


Forgiven

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: BDSM, Canon, Gap Filler, Points of View, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-26
Updated: 2005-05-26
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Episode 110 gapfiller:  Brian and Justin return to the Pitts.





	Forgiven

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

It didn’t start out that way, but once I got to New York City, I realized that running away was sort of a test. I never thought Brian would call the police – I figured that, if nothing else, Debbie would stop him – but I wasn’t sure he’d come after me. If he did, that meant…what? I felt like I was engaged in some sort of lab experiment, probably psych lab.

The experiment started with a knock on my hotel room door. If I opened the door, and my mother was standing there, that would send me one message. Opening the door to Brian and his posse would send another. But, when I saw Brian standing there alone, propped up on the doorframe, I got the message I was hoping for: Brian had cared enough to send the very best. It was, however, just the first part of the experiment.

The second part would be how he reacted once he found me. I assumed he would be angry since he was furious with me when I forgot to set the lock on the loft, resulting in the burglery. Now, I’d stolen his credit card, and he’d had time to get even angrier while he chased me down.

I had a plan, however, for defusing the Brian time bomb. I’d showered and put on the hotel’s thick, luxurious terry robe…and nothing else. I’d been living with Brian long enough to learn at least one lesson very well: Brian is always ready to fuck a naked Justin…and I was one second away from naked. 

I also had a sad little speech worked up about how my parents didn’t want me and Brian didn’t want me and I had no place to go. The best thing about this speech was that it was 100% true. I was almost certain that if naked Justin didn’t touch Brian’s heart, homeless Justin would.

Not to worry. Brian started out stern and sarcastic, but when I got serious about everybody rejecting me, he got serious back. “First thing when we get back, we’re going to find you a place to live,” he said. Most people don’t understand that Brian believes he personally is responsible for straightening out everybody in the whole world, but even in the short time I’d known him, I’d figured that out. I was sure that straightening me out would calm him down.

Sure enough, I got naked and he got interested, then I got him naked. I did a lot of touching and licking and tasting, and then it was his turn. He pinned my hands to the bed, and kissed and bit my neck, my chest, my tits. He has a heavy beard, and he probably hadn’t shaved in twenty-four hours. He rubbed his face against my shoulder and my chest, and I could feel the brush burn. I love brush burn. It’s masculine and it turns me on. 

Then Brian was on me and over me and in me, and I was heels over head again. It hurt. He lubed his dick after he put on the condom, but he didn’t do anything to open me up before he pushed straight in. I moaned and gave a whine that started at the back of my throat, but he didn’t pause. I didn’t want him to. It was an angry fuck, a punishing fuck, an exciting fuck. 

Afterwards he said, “Get your shit together. We’re leaving as soon as I shower…alone.”

So he was still angry.

First he made a call, and I listened shamelessly.

“Mikey? I’m ready to head home. Meet me at the parking lot in…half an hour, forty-five minutes, tops.”

He paused and listened.

“Michael, I don’t have time for that. I want to get on the road…. Yeah, yeah…. No. No, I won’t….” He made a face. “I’ll tell you what. Do a one-way rental. Put it on Ted’s credit card, and I’ll reimburse you…. No. No problem…. I’m not crazy about jamming five of us into the Jeep anyway…. Yeah. Call me as soon as you get back…. Yeah…. O.K. Good.” He hung up and walked into the bathroom without looking at me or saying a word. 

 

We were on the road in less than forty-five minutes, through the tunnel and headed west through scenic North Jersey’s oil storage tank farms. Brian was still silent, and I began to wonder whether he was angry or just tired. I certainly wasn’t going to ask. I gave a silent shrug, popped in a CD, and turned up the volume. 

We left Newark International Airport behind and drove on toward Princeton. Brian still wasn’t talking. I don’t mean he was giving me the silent treatment. He’d listen to me, but he just didn’t have much to say back. Those one-word answers really kill a conversation. Finally, I said what I’d been thinking since we left New York City. “Brian, do you want me to drive for a while so you can take a nap?”

Brian took his eyes off the road for long enough to give me a sardonic look. “I didn’t let Mikey or Ted or Emmett drive the jeep on the way here. Do you think I’m going to let you drive now?” 

I gave it about one minute’s thought and immediately remembered my new motto: persistence pays. “We’re on the turnpike, Brian. All I have to do is keep the Jeep pointed in the right direction, going between 60 and 70 miles per hour. It’s not that difficult. I can do it. And it’s safer than taking a chance you’ll fall asleep.” No response. No “Yes,” no “No,” not even a change in expression. I sighed and slid lower in my seat.

Brian pulled off at the next service area, and we both refueled. I made a quick trip to the Burger King while he filled up the car. When I got back, Brian waved me over to the driver’s side. “Let’s see if you can pull onto the Turnpike without killing us.”

I handed off those Burger King bags so fast my hand was a blur and dashed around to the driver’s side of the car. Brian got in, and I could see he was tense. His grip on the Burger King bags was punishing, and he got his seat belt on in record time. However, I had no problems. I got through the parking lot to the on ramp without incident and pulled into traffic easily. Then, it was like I said: I got up to around 60 miles per hour, pulled into the middle lane, and held it at between 65 and 70. After about ten miles, Brian relaxed enough to rummage through the bags and eat a burger and drink a soda. I noticed he didn’t offer me anything – afraid I’d get distracted and crash, I guess. 

After he’d finished his soda, he said, “Wake me before the turn-off to the Pennsylvania Turnpike.” He slumped over toward the window and closed his eyes.

I was happy the trial period was over. His anxiety was making me tense, and I was pretty hungry. As soon as I was sure he was asleep, I snagged the bags and ate two burgers and drank a soda. The french fries hadn’t been too appealing when they were hot, so I skipped them entirely. 

I didn’t wake Brian at the turn off to the Pennsylvania Turnpike, but I expected him to wake up when I stopped to pay the toll. He stirred and resettled himself, but he didn’t wake up then or three minutes later when I slowed down to pick up my new turnpike ticket. I drove on, past the Philadelphia suburbs, while Brian slept peacefully. I’d never driven for this long before, and I could feel my confidence growing. 

Brian slept until after we had cleared Philadelphia, and we were out in the rolling countryside. He sat up, stretched sinuously, and looked around. 

“I think Downingtown is the next exit,” I said.

He nodded and looked at the almost empty Burger King bags on the floor, but he didn’t say anything about how they got that way. I guess he figured we were still alive so what the fuck? We rode in silence for a few minutes, until he saw a marker indicating that one of the Pennsylvania Turnpike’s picnic areas was coming up. “Pull in there,“ he said. 

I wasn’t surprised. I figured he’d want to take back the driving as soon as possible after he woke up. I pulled in and turned off the engine – the parking for the picnic area was just an expanded area of the shoulder - and Brian hopped right out and walked past the nearest picnic table to the chain link fence that divided the turnpike from the fields beyond. He needed to take a leak. Good idea. I followed him and unzipped. Brian turned his head and looked down at me, his eyes narrowed to slits. I sucked in a breath. It had been almost four hours since he’d fucked me in the hotel: more than enough time for him to recover.

Brian readjusted his clothing but he didn’t snap up his fly. “Strip,” he said. 

Cars were whizzing by, maybe 20 feet away. “ _Bri_ -an,” I said.

“I said, strip. Now.”

I looked around. One picnic table was between us and the highway; it offered no protection at all. The second table was closer to the fence, and its far end was behind a large evergreen tree. The lowest limbs of the tree almost touched the ground, and even though they weren’t uniformly close enough to provide complete privacy, someone speeding by in a car was unlikely to notice a Justin Taylor getting fucked by a Brian Kinney. 

I walked behind the tree and unzipped my pants. I made sure Brian was watching and then I slowly wiggled out of them, making a production out of it. When they were down around my ankles, Brian said, “All the way off.” My sneakers came off with the pants. 

“Now the shirt.”

“What? I’ll…I’ll be naked.”

“That’s what ‘strip’ usually means. Do it.”

His voice was grim, and I began to have a funny feeling. A quick blowjob would have been routine – I’ve given Brian head in more public places - and even a quick fuck would not have been completely out of the ordinary. Getting naked, though…somehow the idea of taking off my shirt and being stark naked some twenty feet from the Turnpike was both scary and exciting. I thought about arguing, but a look from Brian had me pulling my shirt off over my head. I dropped it on top of my pants and shivered. I wasn’t cold.

Brian said, “Around there,” and he gestured to the narrow end of the picnic table.

That put me in line with the trunk of the tree. I approved of that. 

“Bend over.”

I looked at the picnic table. I was up for a fuck…literally…but not on a picnic table that had been out in all sorts of weather for a very long time. The wood was weathered, raggedy, and dirty-looking and liable to produce large, painful splinters. I don’t like splinters anywhere on my body but particularly not in the parts that were going to be up against this wood, with a larger, heavier body pressing me into it. I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Brian.”

Brian made an impatient gesture toward my clothes. I sighed and picked up my pants and shirt and spread them carefully over the end of the table. Then I leaned over and wiggled my butt at Brian.

“Grab the sides of the table,” he said, and he kicked my feet a little further apart. I felt amazingly naked. I mean, you don’t feel naked in the shower or in bed, do you? Sometimes you feel a little bit naked if you walk across the room to the refrigerator, and you definitely feel more naked when you drop trou in the back room, but not to the extent of nakedness I felt here. I was aware of every inch of my bare skin. 

I listened for the tear of a condom wrapper, my last glimpse of Brian’s open fly having indicated that the preliminaries might be brief. Instead, one hand landed between my shoulder blades, holding me in place, while the other hand smacked my ass…hard. 

“What the hell…?”

My answer was another heavy smack, not a playful spank, but an open-handed slap with the power of a well-developed physique behind it. It hurt. I grunted. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Dumb question. My answer was another smack. O.K. “ _Why_ are you doing this?”

Brian stood up straight, taking his hand off my back. “You tell me.”

“Because I left the loft unlocked…stole your credit card? Spent a lot of money?” I dug my feet in and braced myself for the next slap. I knew it was going to be even harder, now that his swing was no longer impeded by having one hand on my back. I didn’t make any attempt to move, just gripped the sides of the table harder and pressed my head against the tabletop that – thankfully - I had covered with my pants. 

“That’s part of it…a small part.” He smacked me again, hard enough to sting, but not as hard as the first three slaps. “What’s the most important reason, the real reason?”

My eyes were filling up and I was choking a little. “Because you had to go all the way to New York to get me?”

“You’re closer, but you’re not quite there. Think about it – why am I upset about this trip?”

“It was inconvenient…” Slap. “It was expensive….” Slap. “It got you upset….” 

No slap. “Closer.”

“You were worried about me….” Harder slap. 

I whined, “I don’t know, Brian…help me out here….” 

“Think about it.” 

I did, and all of a sudden I _knew_. “I embarrassed you. I embarrassed you in front of your friends.” 

“Got it. Don’t….” Slap. “Ever….” Slap. “Do it again.” Very hard slap, with the full force of those shoulders behind it. Despite my grip on the sides of the table, it pushed me further up on it. Tears had been running down my cheeks, but now I heard myself sob. 

Brian gathered me up and stood me on the ground, at the end of the table. He hugged me. “I won’t,” I said. “I promise I won’t.”

“At least, think before you embarrasses me again. Maybe you’ll still feel like you have to do...whatever...but do it on _purpose_.” 

I rubbed my damp face against his shirt. “Okay. I understand. I really do,” and I slid to my knees. I skimmed my hand down his rock-hard dick and cupped his balls gently. He groaned and swayed toward me. I licked the tip once, then took as much of his dick as I could into my mouth and sucked hard, pressing the underside with my tongue. Then I stood up and kissed him with his taste on my lips. 

At first I was kissing him, then Brian took over, turning the kiss into an act of domination, his tongue filling my mouth, thrusting powerfully. I opened up and sighed and let his mouth take mine, the way I like it best. I was getting hard myself. I had thought, not more than a minute earlier, with my dick limp from the spanking, that this would be one time when I wouldn’t come. I was wrong.

When he finally broke the kiss, I pushed him gently, turning him until his back was to the picnic table, and we had changed places. I unbuttoned his shirt, licked his belly button, and kissed the trail that led to my favorite destination. He braced his arms behind him on the table and thrust his hips toward me. I played with his penis…licking, sucking, probing, harder, then softer, trying to delay his orgasm…until he grabbed my head and took control. I moaned as he thrust into my mouth, grabbed my own cock, and started jerking myself off. Brian’s grip on my head tightened, and he thrust harder and faster until he flooded my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed, then convulsed as I came, too. I wrapped my arms around his legs, shaking, perhaps chilled, perhaps in reaction to all the emotion.

Brian straightened himself out and watched me silently as I dressed. We got back in the car, Brian in the driver’s seat again…as he really had been since he woke up…and I fell asleep, worn out. 

We’ve never discussed the incident. Unlike my trip to New York, my punishment was private.


End file.
